


Retail Therapy

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, canon divergence - the prison never fell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28892979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: Daryl and Rick are out on a run. They end up in a men's fashion outlet store. Rick decides Daryl needs new clothes. Daryl decides he needs Rick.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 8
Kudos: 107
Collections: Daryl is gay/asexual so deal with it





	Retail Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something silly I managed to finish from my ever-growing list of rickyl unfinished works. I'm insanely proud that I managed to actually finish something after such a long time. It gives me hope for the future!

Daryl had never been much for clothes shopping before the whole world went to shit. He didn’t have the kinda money it would take to buy anything halfway decent, not to mention how nice clothes would’ve been a waste on someone with his looks, anyway. He’d usually got the most basic, plain shit from the local Goodwill store. Some of it was even his size. Most of it wasn’t: his body has funky proportions, so it was always hard finding anything that wasn’t trash and fit well all over. Especially shirts. 

Whatever. Thing is, Daryl couldn’t even name a fancy brand if anyone asked him, and he doesn’t think his life up to now was any worse off because of it. Clothes are just clothes. As long as they don’t completely fall apart and fall off his ass, they’re good.

Which is why he doesn’t get Rick’s sudden excitement when, during a run, they come across what appears to be a men’s fashion outlet store that’s practically untouched.

“Oh come on, Daryl. We’ve been wearing the same old shit for months,” Rick says as he heads towards the first rack of neatly stacked dress shirts. “The girls got theirs, now it’s time for us men to get our glow-up.”

“We don’t got no time for this, though,” Daryl protests. The sun’s close to setting. Soon, it will be dark, and there’s no way they can make it back to the prison at night with all the obstacles on the roads. He’s not too optimistic about an overnight stay where they are, either. While it’s true this store hasn’t been overrun so far, it doesn’t mean the place is gonna stay safe until morning. 

“We won’t make it back before dark anyway,” Rick points out. 

He’s not wrong. They’ve wandered further than usual for this run, following a map Glenn found a few weeks ago which marked a garden depot. It was a jackpot, too; the truck they’ve got parked in the back is full of seeds and tools, and Rick’s already been talking about taking more people there for the next run as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it’s almost three hours from the prison. Would be less, but the highway is completely blocked for miles, so the only way to get there and back is using small woodland roads and, on one memorable occasion, going straight across a wide stretch of fallow lands. 

If the highway was usable, going back in the dark wouldn’t be a problem. As it is, though, Daryl realizes there’s no chance they’ll get home in one piece, even if they set out right away. 

Well, shit.

“Ain’t no way to board up here,” he says, motioning to the glass front wall. It’s covered with posters claiming a fifty percent off sale, so the interior is obscured from the outside, but it doesn’t provide any real protection in case a herd tries to get in. 

Still, better this than getting caught out on the road in the middle of nowhere. They’d gone against worse odds and survived.

“We can set up upstairs,” Rick suggests. There’s a pair of escalators leading up to the second floor. As Daryl looks around, he realizes the escalators are the only way upstairs, except for the elevator which is obviously also out of order. It could work, he decides. 

“I’ll block these off,” he offers, motioning to the escalators.

Rick nods, already heading upstairs, gun in one hand and one of Daryl’s hunting knives in the other. It’s unlikely he’s going to run into any trouble, judging by the fact there are no walkers on the first floor, but one can never be too careful in the apocalypse.

Seeing as Rick has the upstairs covered, Daryl walks towards the check out desk to see if there’s anything there that will be useful for blocking off one of the escalators. In case any stragglers come crashing in, it’s gonna be much easier only having to secure one possible entrance they could use instead of two.

There aren’t any crates or shit he could use, not in the showroom part of the store anyway, but he decides the desk itself might be good enough. It’s damn heavy, for one, enough so that it’s not bolted to the floor. At first glance, it also seems to be the perfect width to fit at the bottom of the escalator and block it properly. With that in mind, Daryl begins the difficult process of hauling the damn thing across the showroom. 

It’s pretty fucking heavy, he concludes quickly when the piece of furniture hardly budges even though he pushes it with considerable strength. He considers waiting for Rick to get back from checking upstairs, but then again, he’s not a pussy. He can do this. With a grunt, he pushes the desk harder and succeeds in moving it a couple inches towards the destination. The triumphant feeling is very brief, though: just another inch or two, and the damn thing becomes stuck. Doesn’t budge, no matter how much he huffs and curses, and how much strength he applies. It won’t move.

Frowning, Daryl walks to the front of the damn thing to check what the hell it got stuck on. Turns out it’s just a tile on the floor. Apparently the person who did the finishing stuff around here didn’t know how to level for shit. Amateurs. Even Daryl could’ve done it better, with Merle’s help. Pity he probably wasn’t in the area when they were looking for construction workers.

He grabs the edges of the desk, spreads his legs to ground himself better, then lifts the piece of furniture and pulls it towards himself simultaneously. It’s not any less heavy this way and he curses before he drops it, jumping back just in time to avoid the base hitting his feet. Unfortunately, the edge of the counter catches on his shirt and as he stumbles back, he hears the tell-tale ripping sound.

“Mother-fuckin’  _ fuck, _ ” he all but yells, and he looks down at his front to assess the damage.

It’s… significant. His shirt was threadbare to begin with, and as old cotton is wont to do, it tore all the way from his chest where the edge of the desk caught in the fabric, down to the bottom hem. It’s a jagged line, threads sticking out everywhere, and with an annoyed sort of sigh, Daryl realizes the shirt is beyond repair. 

“Everything okay?” Rick calls from upstairs. He doesn’t sound breathless or anything, which indicates that the upper floor might be as deserted as down here. He does sound concerned though, about Daryl’s well-being, and the thought makes Daryl’s cheeks flush in something that he wants to believe is embarrassment for being treated like an idiot who can’t take care of himself… because he’s not ready to accept the other option just yet.

“Fine,” he shouts back towards the escalators. 

He eyes the desk. He’s barely managed to move it ten inches on his own, and the whole endeavor stops looking very doable by the minute. After a brief moment of further deliberation, he finally gives up, and says loudly: “Come back down when yer done up there, gonna need some help!”

Almost at once, he hears Rick’s footsteps as the man hurries to join him. Him and his damn cowboy boots, making all that noise. It’s familiar and comforting, the sound of Rick’s footsteps, even as it’s also annoying at the same time because, honestly, why can’t the guy learn to tread carefully one of these days? Still, Daryl can’t stay mad at him. Not when there’s a stubborn piece of furniture he’s got to wrangle.

When Rick arrives, Daryl is glaring at the desk like it personally started the whole dead people walking business, and it’s no wonder the man chuckles at the sight.

“Fuck you,” Daryl mutters, though he’s not convinced if he’s talking to the furniture or to Rick. Both are on thin fucking ice right now.

“So what are we doing?” Rick asks, tilting his head as he looks at Daryl curiously. “Besides ruining our wardrobes, apparently,” he adds, pointing to the tear in Daryl’s shirt.

Daryl explains his plan to barricade the escalator. It’s a good plan, regardless of his shoddy execution of it so far, so Rick doesn’t need any convincing to assist. He goes to the back side of the desk while Daryl stays at the front, and their combined effort of push-pull yields a much better result than Daryl’s earlier attempt. It still takes them a good ten minutes to move the desk all the way to the bottom of the escalator, and then another ten minutes to maneuver the damn thing to block off all access. At least it fits in perfectly. Daryl would’ve screamed if it was too wide.

“So that’s done,” Rick says, grinning as he jumps over the partition between the two escalators to approach Daryl again. “Think we can browse some racks? You need a new shirt.”

“Man, what’s with you an’ tryin’ to dress me up?” Daryl asks, rolling his eyes. But it’s true: he really should get a new shirt. It’s not about aesthetics, neither, more like, it’s going to be October soon, and colder months afterwards. Walking around with a giant hole all over the front of his shirt isn’t gonna cut it, even if he tucks it in the waistband of his jeans and hopes for the best. It would let the chill in. Better not risk pneumonia in these times. Not that it would’ve been great to get so sick back in the days Before when the hospital bills would’ve put him in debt for life, but at least there were hospitals back then. Now, it’s the Wild fucking West all over the place. Best they have in the medical field is a veterinarian and a few bottles of Tylenol.

He groans. “Fine. But we should look upstairs. Ain’t ideal to roam ‘round here, what with that glass storefront an’ all.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rick agrees eagerly, and he walks around to retrieve the small solar-powered lanterns they placed around the floor to have any light while they were browsing. They found those in that garden depot. There are approximately thirty more of them in a crate in the truck. With how sunny it always is in the yard with no trees to throw shade, the lanterns can replace the traditional battery-powered lamps everyone’s got in their cells. They’re safer than candles, too, as they pose no fire hazard. It was a stroke of genius on Rick’s part to think to take them along; the handful at the top of the crate were already charged from exposure and proved really useful in navigating the store so far. It would’ve been a pain in the ass to move that desk with nothing but a hand-held flashlight. Well... a bigger pain than it already was.

They head up the non-blocked escalator, Rick first, Daryl behind him. The upper level of the store is basically the same as the lower one, with racks of clothes everywhere and another checkout desk in the corner. Rick puts the lanterns in strategic points: one on the floor next to the escalator to clearly mark the entrance, the other three on the shelves on the two walls making up the corner with the checkout.

“Look what I found,” he says, and points to a refrigerator and a snack-filled vending machine next to the desk. 

Daryl blinks. “Woah,” he says. “They’re full?” 

“Yup,” Rick announces. “And even better: we don’t gotta break anything to get in. Found these keys in the cabinet there.”

They sit on the nice rug on the floor and indulge in a very nice and  _ very  _ unhealthy dinner of potato chips, candy bars and caramel popcorn, along with a can of coke each. There are also juice bottles in the fridge; Daryl opens one just to check it, and it’s not spoiled, so they decide to take those back to the prison. The kids rarely get any proper nutrition nowadays, and they could definitely use some vitamins other than just from Rick’s garden which isn’t that impressive yet. 

“Next year, maybe we can make our own juice,” Rick says with a grin. 

“Dunno, man. May be too soon for those peach saplings,” Daryl replies, shrugging. He doesn’t know shit about how orchards are supposed to function. He only knows orchards used to give him the creeps for some unknown reason. Especially apple orchards. He’s sort of glad the only saplings that seem to have survived in that gardening depot until now are peach trees and a handful of pecan trees.

“Don’t ruin my dream of sustainability,” Rick protests and hits him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re probably right, but still. It would be nice to not have to depend on supply runs anymore. Canned stuff isn’t the worst and don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that we’re still able to find anything out here at all, but nothing beats fresh produce.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Great, now he’s gonna be waxin’ poetic ‘bout all them fruits an’ veggies. Nobody appreciates a good venison steak anymore. Me an’ my crossbow, we’re hurt, man.”

Rick blinks at that, and it’s clear he didn’t take it as a joke Daryl obviously intended it to be, with the light tone and the wording and all. He should’ve realized Rick’s the type to overthink shit. 

The man licks his lips and looks up at Daryl, his face suddenly serious.

“You know it’s not like that, right?” He asks softly. “You know that we- that  _ I  _ appreciate everything you do for us. The hunting, the supply runs, everything.”

“Yeah,” Daryl mutters, looking down at his hands. “Jesus, man, ‘twas a joke,” he adds, shaking his head. “Ain’t gotta say stuff like that. ‘s damn embarrassin’, ya know.”

“I’m not embarrassed to admit I’d be lost without you,” Rick says, still all serious and solemn. 

Daryl scoffs. “Nah, man. You’d be fine. Anyway, let’s grab me some new shirt,” he says, changing the topic to something a little more comfortable. “Ya wanted to do that shit, so go on, be useful. Bet’cha ain’t gonna find nothin’ that fits me in a fancy-ass store like this, anyway. It ain’t Redneck Outfitters.”

Rick smirks, unable to turn down the challenge, just like Daryl hoped. The man has a competitive streak a mile long, though he doesn’t normally have much opportunity to show it. It’s funny; normally, Rick’s all chill and shit, but dare him to do something or, better yet, tell him he  _ won’t  _ succeed, and he’s gonna make damn well sure the thing is done twice as well and in half the time it would normally require. Daryl noticed it about him early on, recognized it immediately because, hell, Merle was the same way; but he hasn’t actually told anyone. He doesn’t want anyone to use the knowledge against Rick in any way; and if he sometimes uses it to his advantage, well. He makes sure it’s nothing dangerous he pushes Rick to do, and besides, Rick hasn’t caught on yet, so it’s not a big deal.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Rick says, already heading towards the closest rack of shirts, t-shirts and whatever else is there.

“Don’t do that too much or yer gonna explode that big brain of yers,” Daryl advises him smugly. He gets up and follows the man. He’s not about to let Rick pick out some pink monstrosity for him to wear, after all. If there are pink monstrosities in a store such as this. Daryl doesn’t know. Certainly were enough of them in Goodwill. 

Rick snorts. “Ha, very funny,” he says. “When have you become such a comedian, huh? Almost makes me think you missed your calling.”

“Shut up and find me a shirt,” Daryl snaps, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t gonna walk around showin’ skin all night.”

Rick murmurs something under his breath at that - something Daryl could almost swear sounded like _what a pity,_ but surely he must’ve misheard because Rick’s got no reason to _want him_ to be half naked; \- and he picks out something from the rack.

It’s not pink, at least, but that’s the most generous description Daryl can give it at first sight. The garment Rick presents him is a sort of a long-sleeved t-shirt, and it looks about two sizes too small to fit on Daryl’s shoulders. Not to mention the fact it’s got  _ sexy bastard  _ written in a funky font across the front. It looks nothing like what Daryl would wear, ever. Not even if the world ended… which it already did, in a way, and yet he’s still not gonna wear this shit.

“Try again,” he says, throwing the shirt in the vague direction of the checkout desk. He’s not gonna wear it, but he can use it as part of his bed for the night. Which is still probably more than the thing deserves.

“You’re picky,” Rick observes thoughtfully. He’s smiling, though, so Daryl takes it that he didn’t offend the man by declining his first choice. 

He offers a quip in return: “Ain’t picky, ‘s just that you’ve got terrible taste.”

Laughing softly, in that carefree, joyful manner that makes something inside of Daryl’s chest flip - in a  _ pleasant way,  _ if there can be anything pleasant about his stomach literally flipping itself sideways - Rick returns to browsing the rack. He picks another long-sleeved t-shirt thing, but doesn’t give it to Daryl and hangs it over his forearm instead. Then a short-sleeved one, and what seems to be a button-up. He frowns and moves on to another rack, where he’s much more pleased with his findings: about half a dozen shirts of different styles make the selection. 

“Okay, that’s enough for now,” he decides after he grabs two more garments from the third rack. “Let’s go to the changing rooms.”

“What?” Daryl asks, confused. “Rick, we ain’t shoppin’ for high fashion. Don’t need no changin’ rooms.”

“Come on, live a little,” Rick protests. He grabs the lantern closest to him and leads the way, and despite all his misgivings, Daryl really can’t deny his friend anything, so he follows after him. He’s not cursing under his breath or anything. Just… this is stupid. He didn’t need no damn changing rooms before the turn; why in the fuck’s name should he need one now?

Rick puts the lantern right outside of the first changing room in the row and pushes the curtain open. It would be awfully ironic if there was a walker behind it, lunging at them when they least expect it, but thankfully, there isn’t one.

“I checked it already,” Rick says, rolling his eyes at how Daryl’s suddenly tense posture must very clearly reveal his thoughts. “Who do you think I am?”

“A farmer?” Daryl supplies, relaxing.

Ricks shoves the whole stack of clothes at him. “Try these on, smartass.”

He’s not getting out of this, so he might as well, Daryl decides and walks inside the changing room. He takes off his vest and sets it carefully on the small shelf in the stall, then he removes the torn shirt, not even bothering with most of the buttons - he just pulls it off over his head. Since it’s trash anyway, he uses it to wipe his chest and his armpits, removing some of the dirt and stink, then throws it to the corner and picks up the first item from the pile Rick gave him.

It’s a dark button-up shirt with long sleeves. He can’t exactly tell the color because it’s mostly dark in the changing room now that he drew the curtain; looks to be plain black or something thereabouts, though. Daryl can get behind that. He carefully unbuttons the shirt and puts it on, then buttons it up - only to realize while it does seem to fit his shoulders and is a bit loose on his abdomen, it’s definitely too snug across his chest.

“You know you gotta show me each piece, right?” Rick asks from the other side of the curtain. He sounds vaguely amused.

“Why though?” Daryl mutters, but he doesn’t fight it; he pulls open the curtain and looks at Rick, striking the silliest pose he can recall from some TV show about models Merle used to watch every Wednesday night. “Well?” He asks after a moment of silence.

Rick blinks and coughs a little, badly hiding his laughter, then swallows and says, “Uh. It’s tight.”

“No shit,” Daryl says, shaking his head. “Can do in a pinch, though. No need to look through all those-”

“No, no, there is a need,” Rick protests vehemently. “There’s a very big need. Come on. You can’t just have one shirt to wear every day until it falls apart on you. It’s not practical.”

With a sigh, Daryl draws the curtains again and takes off the shirt. He picks up the next piece, a dark long-sleeved top made of a thick but stretchy fabric. It has a tiny logo on the right side of the chest area, which Daryl vaguely recognizes as a brand that used to make sports stuff. He only knows because they used to have a billboard in the neighborhood he worked at, with a good-looking model staring down from the photo. When Daryl thinks about it, he realizes the model looked kinda like Rick. A little. Huh. Shaking his head, he pulls the shirt on and frowns. It fits quite easily with how stretchy it is, but it also hugs his body very snugly, and he’s not sure if it’s a good thing or not.

He shows Rick, and Rick seems to think it’s very good, if his insistence that Daryl get it is any indication. Which, on second thought, might not be that bad an idea; of course Daryl’s not going to wear it on its own, he’s got no business wearing clothes this tight, but it’s gonna be a good undershirt for the winter. He kind of wishes they’d had stuff like this during that first winter on the road. It would’ve made keeping watch at night while everyone else slept snuggled together in a pile that much less uncomfortable.

The next couple of shirts are plain t-shirts, one of which sort of fits in the shoulders and is too loose everywhere else, and the other doesn’t fit at all - Daryl’s arms don’t even fit through the sleeves. Then there’s a cotton turtleneck shirt that, again, fits like a  _ very _ skin-tight glove, which for some reason makes Rick’s eyes widen when Daryl shows it to him. It’s another good idea for an undershirt for winter. 

A few more shirts, one of which has a silly cat print that Daryl likes for some reason - not that he’s gonna tell anyone, - and he’s down to the last one. It’s a denim button down with long sleeves, and it fits better than anything else Daryl’s tried on or even  _ owned  _ so far. It’s not too tight or too loose anywhere, and it’s got snaps instead of buttons which makes it more convenient somehow. Honestly, Daryl hopes there are more like it on the racks. 

He shows Rick who offers his approval, and he returns to the stall to change into one of the t-shirts for the night; he doesn’t want to sweat through the nice denim shirt just yet. Just as he’s down to nothing but his jeans, all of a sudden Rick sticks his head into the stall, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but instead he just… stares.

Daryl glares at him, immediately grabbing the closest shirt to cover himself, even though he realizes it makes him seem like a damn pussy. It’s not like he’s fully naked or anything, it’s just his chest, and anyway, Rick’s seen him naked enough times not to be fazed by it anymore. But he is, for some reason, and so Daryl is, too, and it’s more awkward than it has any right to be.

“Get the fuck out,” Daryl hisses with a scowl, which is enough to snap Rick out of whatever reverie he was in - only, instead of leaving, he slips inside the stall. 

“The fuck?” Daryl asks, or tries to ask, but the words never have the chance to resound as they get muffled by Rick’s lips on Daryl’s. Rick’s lips. On his. Daryl’s brain sort-of short-circuits and for the longest time, he doesn’t respond to what must be the best kiss of his life - not that he had many of those, but still; it takes Rick drawing back, frowning, looking dejected and terrified for Daryl’s stupid brain to get back online, and he drops the shirt he’s been holding like a shield. He grabs the front of Rick’s shirt instead to pull the man back into a second kiss which, if possible, is even better than the first. Longer. Less hesitant. Rick sighs into his mouth and Daryl, feeling braver than ever, uses the opportunity to push his tongue past parted lips, savoring the taste of peach-flavored candy Rick had with his dinner. 

They draw back for air, though Daryl personally thinks he could go without if he got to taste Rick forever in return. Still, they pull apart, if only slightly, and the night stillness is broken only by their heavy breathing. 

“I wanted to do this for a long time,” Rick murmurs, shakes his head and looks up at him solemnly. “God, Daryl. Please say it’s not just me. Please say I’m not ruining nothing-”

“You ain’t,” Daryl assures him softly, clears his throat. Bites down on his lower lip, because his hands are both placed on Rick’s hips and they’re so good there, he can’t be bothered to bring either up to bite on his thumbnails. Everything feels urgent all of a sudden, like if Daryl doesn’t do something, he’s going to explode. And there’s Rick, so close and so warm. Daryl wants to be kissing him again, touching him. No more of this time wasting bullshit they’d been doing for years. 

Here they are, just the two of them in each other’s space, and Daryl thinks,  _ screw this,  _ and captures Rick’s mouth with his questing lips again. Rick goes pliant against him, wraps his arms around Daryl’s shoulders and makes a soft, needy noise into the kiss. It’s possibly the hottest sound Daryl has ever heard; rewarding it with one of his own, a low and guttural groan, he pushes the younger man into the wall of the stall and deepens the kiss. 

He’s not some kissing master, the few men he’d been with before weren’t really the kissing types, but he can tell he’s doing a damn good job if only from the tell-tale hardness pressing against his hip. That, he knows what to do with, so he pulls back from the kiss, gives Rick’s lower lip one more lick to savor the feeling of it, and drops to his knees. He’s fumbling with Rick’s belt even before he hits the floor.

“Daryl,” Rick whispers and looks down at Daryl with an awestruck expression. His hands go to Daryl’s shoulders for support, and his breathing grows labored. Daryl smirks, then concentrates on the task before him; he opens the belt, then the button and zipper of Rick’s jeans, and pulls them down along with the underwear. Immediately, Rick’s musky scent fills his nostrils and Daryl sighs contentedly before leaning in to nuzzle the man’s hard cock with his stubbly cheek. 

“God, Daryl,” Rick whimpers and his hips twitch forward.

Well, Daryl can’t have that, now can he? “Nuh-uh. Keep still,” he demands, locking his gaze with Rick’s even as he’s breathing down on the straining length in front of him. He places both hands on Rick’s hips to pin him against the wall, reveling in how easy it is to hold the other man down - how easily Rick submits to Daryl’s ministrations. Who’d have thought the fearless leader had a submissive streak to him? Not that Daryl complains. Quite the opposite; he thinks this newfound fact about Rick is incredibly hot.

“You gonna smile at it or you wanna try sucking it?” Rick asks, sounding like an impatient brat, and it’s so unlike anything Daryl has expected, he just chuckles and shakes his head.

“Might hafta think about it,” he says, forcing himself to sound casual even with what he’s sure is the darkest of all blushes adorning his face, probably spreading down his neck and to his chest judging by the warmth he feels. Hell, it’s dark enough in the stall Rick might not notice, so Daryl thinks he can be awkwardly flirtatious all he wants.

He’s not sure he wants to be a tease, though; not after he’s already waited  _ years  _ to get to do this with Rick, never really believing he’d have this chance. He’d rather not waste it on idle chatter now that he can do whatever he wants.

He swallows the excess saliva in his mouth, wondering if it’s even normal that his mouth waters at the sight of the dick right in front of him like it’s a goddamn snack. If it’s weird, he doesn’t care; he’s gonna enjoy tasting it nonetheless. He takes a deep breath, more to calm his nerves than anything - since when does he get nervous about shit? - and finally moves in to give the tip of Rick’s cock a tentative lick.

Rick lets out a shuddering sigh in response, and his cock twitches against Daryl’s lips. Daryl hums softly; he licks the rounded tip again to get more of the taste he’s already beginning to enjoy, but even more so - to experience more of the reaction it elicits from the other man, the tiny gasp and the gentle, almost non-existent forward thrust of his hips. The rush of power coursing through Daryl’s veins at the realization he can reduce Rick to such desperation so easily is addictive as fuck. Chasing that thrill, wondering how much closer to completely losing it he can drive Rick without actually giving him what he wants, Daryl licks his lips, letting his tongue touch Rick’s flesh; he then places a series of wet little kisses on the hard shaft, each one going lower and lower until he reaches the base, and then all the way back up to the tip. 

One of Rick’s hands finds its way into his hair, grabs a fistful, and tugs, like he’s trying to coerce Daryl into hurrying the fuck up. Obviously, Daryl will have none of it, but the pain when Rick pulls on his hair is not unwelcome. It actually sends a jolt of arousal down Daryl’s spine and he groans softly, mouthing at the tip where some clear liquid is already gathering. Fuck, but it tastes good. When he did this before, with some nameless dudes in dingy bars, he didn’t think about the taste because there wasn’t time and besides, that wasn’t what it was all about. Here with Rick, however, he takes a moment to savor the taste and he discovers that he likes it, he likes everything about it, the musky saltiness, slight sourness, the underlying hint of bitterness. 

“Please, Daryl,” Rick says on a slow exhale. His fingers tighten in Daryl’s hair and on his shoulder, a silent plea for more to accompany the vocal one. 

Daryl decides to give him what he wants, mostly because he can’t wait any longer himself. He licks around the tip again, swirls his tongue around it like it’s an ice cream in a cone, and then he parts his lips around it. He slowly slides his mouth down the length; it’s nice and big, so much so that Daryl’s quite sure his jaw will hurt later, but it’s not much of a deterrent. He takes as much of Rick’s cock in his mouth as he can fit, pausing only when the tip hits the back of his throat. He moans around his mouthful, knowing from limited experience what the vibrations feel like to Rick. He relishes the noise Rick makes in return, so needy and erotic it makes his own cock jump in his pants. 

He doesn’t care about his own cock for now, though. There’s gonna be time for that later. For now, he concentrates fully on Rick, Rick’s desire, Rick’s need, Rick’s pleasure. He lets go of the man’s hips, trusting him not to do anything, and he uses his newfound freedom to cup Rick’s balls right when he starts to move up and down on his cock. He puts the other hand on Rick’s inner thigh, rubs it in soothing circles when he feels it tremble with the effort to keep the man standing upright. He loves Rick’s thighs; he had, on occasion, imagined them wrapped around his head or his waist, depending on the fantasy he was exploring at the time. Rubbing the soft skin, feeling the thick muscles, it’s better than any fantasy, especially when he’s got Rick’s cock in his mouth and Rick’s hands pulling on his hair. The man tries not to make noises, tries to be quiet, but Daryl won’t have it; he pulls back, letting Rick’s cock slip out, then he wraps his mouth around the tip and sucks like it’s a popsicle. Rick’s reaction is exactly what he wanted: he moans Daryl’s name, together with a string of curses and  _ please  _ and  _ oh God,  _ and his deep voice sounds lovely when he can’t exactly control the words that spill out of his mouth. 

Daryl takes more of him and sucks, wrapping his fingers around the base of Rick’s cock. He strokes slowly, the movement of his hand firm and steady, but not nearly enough to get him off, not yet. He doesn’t want it to end too soon, not when he’s not sure if Rick will ever want to do it again. 

Despite the slow pace, though, it seems Rick might already be close; his cock is steadily leaking precome, filling Daryl’s mouth with that taste he can’t get enough of. And he realizes, yeah, he could live with making Rick come just like this, hell, he could probably get off of Rick’s pleasure alone. There are so many other things he wants to do, though, so many things he  _ needs  _ to feel before Rick realizes he’s no longer interested in doing this with him. With a last gentle suck, Daryl moves away, letting Rick’s cock slip from his mouth with a soft wet sound. 

“Huh?” Rick asks, looking down at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

Daryl licks his lips and gets back to his feet, then kisses Rick deeply. It’s brief, because they’re both too worked up to keep kissing when there are other things they could be getting their mouths on. Rick is still a bit dazed from what Daryl’s been doing to him, but he quickly gets on with the program and latches onto the juncture of Daryl’s neck and collarbone, sucking greedily at the delicate skin. He doesn’t seem to care about the thin layer of dust covering Daryl’s skin, or even that he’s going to leave a very obvious mark. Daryl definitely doesn’t mind; he imagines carrying Rick’s mark on his skin for everyone to see, and the idea makes him shiver. Then, his mind jumps to the idea of his own marks on Rick, and he can’t help the new wave of  _ want  _ that surges through him in overpowering currents. 

He doesn’t have the patience to unbutton Rick’s shirt, so he rips it open, sending buttons flying everywhere. He doesn’t bother taking it off, he’s content just having access, and he runs his hand through the coating of dark hairs covering Rick’s chest; it makes Rick sigh softly, so Daryl does it again before he dives down to follow the movement of his hand with his tongue. He flicks his thumb against a nipple, liking how Rick reacts with another breathy sigh; his other hand finds a raised ridge on otherwise smooth skin on Rick’s side,  _ scar tissue,  _ his mind tells him helpfully, and Daryl can’t think about it, can’t think about how Rick was shot and in a coma before all this. He can’t think about the possibility of Rick not having made it, so he lifts his head and kisses the man again, desperate and almost bruising in his fervor. Rick responds in kind, kissing back with the same zeal, lips and tongue and teeth, and Daryl groans and presses his clothed thigh between Rick’s legs, rubbing it against his groin. Rick’s jeans are in the way though, bunched as they are around the man’s knees, so Daryl breaks the kiss and moves to kneel in front of Rick again. He does a surprisingly quick job of pulling off Rick’s Goddamn cowboy boots, then helps him wiggle out of the jeans and underwear. Since he’s already down here, he decides it’d be a wasted opportunity if he didn’t get another taste, so he leans in, takes hold of Rick’s cock and swallows it down with a pleased moan. 

Rick’s knees almost give out and he trembles, and Daryl draws back again. He looks up at the man, thinking; he pulls Rick down, directs him with hands on his hips to slide down the wall, to sit back on the carpeted floor, to lie down on top of the pile of clothes used and new. Rick follows the directions, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with arousal, and Daryl moves too in order to comfortably settle between the man’s legs and to suck a bruise on Rick’s inner thigh. 

_ God, Rick’s thighs,  _ Daryl thinks, and he bites down on the spot he was already abusing. It makes Rick gasp, his legs opening further to the point it must be almost uncomfortable. Daryl doesn’t want him uncomfortable.

“Put yer legs ‘round my shoulders,” he says, surprised at himself when it comes out as a command, one Rick follows without hesitation. Strong thighs wrap around him and Daryl can’t help but lick all over them wherever he can reach, feeling the muscles tremble underneath his tongue. Rick’s cock, neglected, twitches when Daryl ends his unhurried exploration by biting down in that same spot with a darkening bruise once more; Daryl licks his lips, then takes the straining length into his mouth, this time with no more intent to tease. He alternates between hard sucking and then licking wetly along the underside, experimenting, trying to find all the exact ways he can make Rick lose his mind. So far, he’s succeeding, judging by the man’s steady stream of breathless curses and punched-out little groans, or by the way his thighs tighten around Daryl before they relax again. It’s the best kind of power trip, having Rick Grimes at his mercy like this, cock deep in Daryl’s mouth, hands tangled in Daryl’s hair, moaning for him like he’s been reduced to a needy slut. He’s so sexy like this, though, damn near irresistible, and Daryl wants to have even more of him, wants  _ everything.  _ He wraps his hand around the base of Rick’s cock again and he extends his middle finger, lining it up with the length so he can take it into his mouth as well. He runs his tongue all over it, wets it thoroughly before he pulls away as far as Rick’s thighs allow him to move. He presses an apologetic kiss to the tip.

“I’m gonna,” he says, but doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, he moves his hand, brushes against Rick’s balls, then lower, until he can press his finger carefully against the rim of Rick’s hole.

“Daryl, what,” Rick whispers, and Daryl looks up to meet wide eyes staring back at him, filled with lust and anticipation and maybe a little bit of fear. 

“Gonna make ya feel good,” he promises. He licks his lips again, lowers his head to suck on the tip of Rick’s cock as his wet finger gently touches Rick’s innermost place one more time. He doesn’t try to put it in, not yet; he just lets it rest there as he sucks more of Rick’s cock into his mouth, distracting him. Rick’s thighs tremble again as Daryl hums softly around his mouthful, knowing from experience how good the vibrations feel. Indeed, Rick moans, and the delicious sound drawn from him makes Daryl’s vision blur a little. God, but he’d kill to make Rick sound like this all the time. He’d do anything. He lets Rick’s cock slip even deeper until it hits the back of his throat, and Daryl’s so damn grateful for his almost nonexistent gag reflex because it means he can have Rick like this, cock buried almost to the hilt in his mouth, thighs wrapped around Daryl’s head and hips lifted off the ground; Rick keeps letting out those wonderful noises and meaningless words of encouragement, and Daryl wants all of them, he wants more. He pushes his wet finger inside of Rick, gently, slowly, only just the tip of it, not even to the first knuckle, and he bobs his head, moving his mouth up and down the man’s shaft, the distraction working pretty well to keep Rick’s tights hole relaxed against the intrusion. Daryl doesn’t hurry; he massages the rim with the pad of his finger, rubbing it in slow circles as he sucks Rick’s cock, and even just this is more than he’d thought he’d be allowed. Still, Rick doesn’t seem to fight him when he lets his finger slip further in, up to the second knuckle, then even further; he tenses briefly, but a particularly hard suck on the tip of his cock makes him lose focus again, and he just babbles something that might be Daryl’s name or a curse, or both. 

Daryl slides his finger out, then pushes it back in, then out, then in, again and again in a slow motion so as not to overwhelm Rick, to draw it out, to make sure it doesn’t end until he’s ready for it to end. He can feel how close Rick is, how the wet tightness around his cock combined with the unfamiliar pressure inside of him keeps pushing him towards the edge. Rick’s a loud lover, too, and the noises he makes are almost enough for Daryl to decide to screw going slow, because fuck if he can deny Rick anything when he sounds so wrecked. Sucking on the tip of Rick’s cock, Daryl puts his finger in again and crooks it, searching, until he finds a spot inside and presses against it; Rick’s whole body jolts at this new kind of pleasure, and his thighs tighten around Daryl’s shoulders as he lets out an airy moan. Daryl smiles around his mouthful of cock, goes for that spot inside again, rubs it with his fingertip in tiny circles, sucking sloppily on Rick’s length, and it only takes that much for Rick to mumble something that might be a warning, and then he’s crying out, and he’s coming in Daryl’s mouth, spurt after thick spurt of come shooting down Daryl’s throat.

He swallows everything, he chases the taste until there’s nothing left, until Rick is completely spent on top of the pile of clothes and he weakly pushes on Daryl’s shoulders to get him off. 

“Gimme a minute,” he says, voice low and blissed out as he motions vaguely to Daryl’s front.

Daryl moves up his body and kisses him. 

For a second there, he can feel Rick hesitate and he just knows the man is considering resisting, but then Rick’s lips part and their tongues meet, and Rick groans softly at the aftertaste of his own come in Daryl’s mouth. Never breaking the kiss, Daryl opens his jeans and gasps when his cock springs free, brushing the sweaty skin of Rick’s inner thigh. He moves his hips, just a little, to rub himself against Rick, and Rick lets him. Rick’s hands tangle themselves in Daryl’s hair and his pretty lips press encouraging kisses on Daryl’s face, and Daryl grinds down on him, chasing the firmness of his body, the white-hot pleasure, and he thinks,  _ mine,  _ and  _ God,  _ and  _ Rick;  _ and then Rick kisses him on the mouth again, swallows all the near-silent gasps that escape him, and Daryl wants this to last, but it can’t last, he can’t last, and he comes with a hoarse groan, coating the inside of Rick’s thighs with his release.

He collapses on top of Rick just then, unable to hold his own weight above him, and Rick huffs as the air is knocked out of him; but it doesn’t sound painful, more amused. Teasing.

“You’re heavy,” Rick says after a moment. His fingers move in Daryl’s hair, stroking along his scalp gently. It’s unclear whether Rick realizes he’s doing it, or if he even knows how much of a calming effect the simple caress has on Daryl. 

“Deal with it,” Daryl grumbles, but he presses one last kiss to the man’s temple, a sort of awkward  _ thank you,  _ and rolls off of him. 

To his surprise, Rick immediately shifts to move on top of him.

He asks, tone light and still vaguely teasing: “Where do you think you’re going, huh?” 

Daryl blinks. “Thought ya were complainin’.”

Rick chuckles, shakes his head. He moves one of his legs to force the curtains apart, letting some dim light from the solar lamp inside the dressing room. 

“Wanna see you when I say it,” he explains to Daryl’s silent confusion.

_ Tell me what?  _ Daryl asks, with his eyes rather than his voice. And he prepares himself for the inevitable, for Rick explaining how this was a one-off, how he’s grateful Daryl let him unwind, but it’s not gonna happen again, how he’s not gay and Daryl really shouldn’t be getting his hopes up-

“I love you,” Rick says softly, cutting through Daryl’s thoughts as though his words were a Goddamn sword. “I’m in love with you. Been for a while.”

“But,” Daryl says, and pauses. He doesn’t know how to reply, because, hell. 

Rick continues, ignoring his aborted attempt at what could’ve been a protest:

“Lori always used to say I didn’t talk about my feelings. It’s what destroyed our marriage, I think, long before Shane, and. I don’t want to destroy what I have with you. So here I am, I guess, talking about my feelings. Thought I’d just, you know, come out with it. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way-”

“I do,” Daryl interrupts him. “Fuck, man. How d’ya not know? I’d do anythin’ for ya. Any fuckin’ thing.”

“I was hoping,” Rick admits, smiling. “I didn’t know it was like this. I wasn’t sure. I mean, you’re so noble, Daryl. You’d fight like hell for anyone in our family, not just me, so. I just wasn’t sure.”

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, filled with only the sounds of their breathing. There’s something digging into Daryl’s back, a bunched up shirt or whatever, but he’s too relaxed to be bothered by it. Rick is snuggled up to him like a lover, his stubble scraping lightly against Daryl’s collarbone as he breathes. He’s stroking up and down Daryl’s arm with gentle fingertips, too, and it’s nice. It’s real damn nice. Maybe this whole clothes shopping business ain’t half as bad as Daryl thought, if this is how it is.

_ Which reminds me- _

“This wha’cha had in mind when ya made me try shit on?” Daryl asks. 

Rick chuckles. “Kinda,” he admits. “I was hoping I’d get to touch you more. Didn’t expect you to turn out so… well, proactive. Maybe next time you’ll let me?...”

Daryl flushes and kisses the top of Rick’s head, trying to hide his face in the man’s curls. He mutters, “Yeah, next time,” and he can’t help but smile.

He hopes the next time will be soon.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I'm over on my Tumblr at most--curiously--blue--eyes, come and say hi if you want!


End file.
